


April Come She Will

by kittensmctavish



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: Cancer, Crying, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Male-Female Friendship, Medical Inaccuracies, Not Beta Read, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: “You know how in ‘Scared Straight’ sketches, Kenan and the host always get Bill to break?” John says. You nod. “He didn’t break at all tonight during that one.”Well...fuck.(Or: You reveal some news about yourself during "Weekend Update.")
Relationships: Bill Hader/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	April Come She Will

**Author's Note:**

> feel like it's necessary to disclosure that i am not an Expert on Things. i did a fuckton of googling and did my best what what info i gleaned.
> 
> also, there's no way the things that happen in this episode would ever actually happen in an episode irl. but shhhhhh.
> 
> i know precisely zero of the people mentioned in this fic. and hope to god they never Ever EVER see this.

You’d left early Tuesday for a doctor’s appointment. You’d left early Thursday for a follow-up. Friday, you’d ended up being called out for another.

So Lorne probably expected you to come a’knockin’ at his door on Saturday to apologize for all the doctor’s appointments and sudden absences. Something that really wasn’t necessary to do, since health came first and all that.

“Nevertheless, I do need to apologize,” you say.

“…everything okay?” Lorne asks. You try to smile. To reassure that everything’s just peachy. But you can’t quite manage it. And Lorne doesn’t buy it (and probably wouldn’t, regardless.) “You’re here awfully early for a Saturday.”

“YOU’RE here awfully early for a Saturday,” you fire back.

“I’m the boss man. I have an excuse.”

“…fair enough.” You set a manila paper folder on Lorne’s desk. “You know that bit for ‘Weekend Update’? Where I was gonna go on about cult classic movies or whatever?” Lorne nods. “I made some rewrites. And…I kind of need you to be okay with them.”

“You NEED me to or WANT me to?”

“Need. I know the distinction. I wouldn’t have said ‘need’ if I didn’t mean it.”

“…may I ask why?”

You open the folder and, with a slightly shaky hand, pick up some papers and hand them to Lorne, explaining as best you can what this and that means. Once those papers are done with, you hand him the rewrite of your “Weekend Update” segment. Explain that some of it may be improvised based on reactions.

“I don’t want to do this during dress rehearsal,” you say. “Just…when we go live. No cue cards. I’ve got it memorized.”

“…you’re sure about this?” Lorne asks. “We can call a meeting before the episode. Let everyone know ahead of time.”

“No,” you insist, shaking your head. “That’ll just throw the energy of the night off. And…I just want everyone to know at once. Cast, the world, everyone. Please, Lorne. I can’t…” You breathe in and breathe out. “I’m not strong enough to break this news more than a handful of times.”

Your eyes do not waver or water as you stare Lorne down, waiting for his decision. Finally, he nods, eyes a little glassier than before, before he ducks his head slightly and coughs. When he lifts his head again, the glassiness is gone.

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” he asks. You nod.

“I’ve been fine all week, I’ll be good tonight. If I find I’m not, I’ll tell someone.”

“…the rest of your sketches after ‘Weekend Update’—”

“I intend to do them,” you say.

“…the last sketch…the one with Bill…”

“It’ll be…” You pause, stopping yourself from saying “fine.” Because you don’t know. If anyone is gonna be not fine during that one, it’ll be Bill.

You and Bill have been best friends since practically the first day you met, and you’ve only grown closer from there. To the point where you know cast and crew alike have been taking bets as to whether or not you two are dating, WHEN you two will start dating, who will confess to whom first, when you two will finally kiss for real and not for a sketch—really, the number of bets they have going on is too impressive for you to be mad about.

Besides, the two of you are close enough at this point that even YOU don’t know if you’re dating or not. And neither does Bill. You two laugh and joke about it all the time, but have never actually sat down to discuss it with any seriousness. At the very least, your friendship is in a place where you two are comfortable saying you love each other. (But it’s always the “what KIND of love” question that gets thrown around…)

“The second half of the show may be a little weird,” you finally say. “But…we’ll get through it. And I’ll take responsibility for that if it’s a complete bomb or whatever. But that sketch…who knows, it may not even make it past dress.”

Said sketch you two are talking about is written by you, Bill, and Mulaney, and features you and Bill as a couple. Both you AND Lorne know it’s making it to the live show, despite mentioning the possibility that it might not.

Another interminable stare down between you and Lorne.

“…okay.” Lorne taps a finger on the script. “It’s okay by me.” You nod.

“Thank you.”

He stacks the papers together, script on top, and hands them back to you. You set them in the folder and close it as you stand. Lorne also rises from his chair and walks your side.

“Anything you need, anything at all…” he begins. “Tonight or…afterwards…”

“We’ll see how things go,” you say, with another smile braver than how you feel.

Lorne’s never really been one to hug people, whether good news is broken, or a cast member or writer leaves, or anything else that would usually warrant a hug happens. So you expect the usual double-clap on the shoulder. Which he does do. Before he leans over and gives you the quickest of hugs.

That stuns you almost as much as yesterday’s appointment did. You leave Lorne’s office a little rattled.

And it must still show on your face as you walk down the hallway, because when you turn at the call of your name, the immediate follow-up question is “Whoa…everything all right?”

“Oh, just…went to talk to Lorne about some things,” you tell Andy.

“Eh, don’t worry,” Andy says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “We all know he’s a big ol’ softie under that gruff exterior.” You laugh, and if it comes off as a little forced, Andy doesn’t notice. “You ready for a killer show tonight?”

“Oh, it’ll be something,” you say, hoping it sounds like you’re agreeing. Because you really don’t know what to expect after tonight.

***

Dress rehearsal goes about as well as one can expect dress rehearsal to go. Some sketches bomb, others are obvious picks for the live show. Your “Weekend Update” segment is entertaining enough.

And sure enough, the sketch with you and Bill make the cut to close out the show before credits.

“It’s too bad we don’t actually kiss in the sketch,” Bill says. “Audience usually goes crazy for that.”

“Yeah, well…ever since Mulaney caught wise to people clamoring for that, he tends to go out of his way to make it not happen anymore,” you sigh, leaning against Bill’s shoulder. “But also I hate kissing your stupid face.” Bill gives you a side-eye. “Kidding. Your face isn’t stupid.”

“But you still hate kissing it?” Bill says.

“Depends on what part of your face we’re talking about.”

“You have kissed AND licked a good expanse of it over the years,” Bill says.

He’s not kidding. Some of the sketches you two get paired up for…you don’t know how the writers come up with it. But it’s a good thing you and Bill are comfortable enough with each other to get that intimate and/or weird for the cameras.

You glance up at him and stick your tongue, as though preparing to lick his face since he brought it up. He leans away for you, holding a hand in front of your tongue. “No, don’t!”

“Oh, so you DON’T want me licking your stupid face?”

“Didn’t you JUST say my face wasn’t stupid?”

“Not the point here, Hader.”

“What IS the point?”

“…yeah, I’ve completely forgotten.”

The two of you settle back into the comfortable position you’d been in earlier. But you do sneak a quick peck to whatever part of his cheek you can reach from where you rest against him (which ends up being more on his chin than his cheek, but whatever).

“Bet you five bucks someone in the audience tonight is gonna start screaming ‘JUST KISS ALREADY’ at some point,” he says after a time.

“I refuse to take that bet,” you say,” because one of our lovely friends-slash-cast members will probably be doing that. Hell, Andy was mouthing it from just off camera. I could see him.”

“Okay, no bet.”

You wrap your arms around Bill’s waist as you lean further into him, just…enjoying the calm he brings you. Smiling a little when one of his arms settles around you, fingers running along your arm. Trying not to think about the show to come. About “Weekend Update.” About…everything after…

“Everything okay?” You look up at Bill. “Can hear you thinking.”

“…oh, it’s…”

“Everything okay with your doctors?” Bill asks. “You’ve had…quite a few appointments recently. Kinda had some of us worried.”

“Some of us or just you?”

“Kristen adores you and you know it.” You pinch his waist, resulting in him pinching your arm in return. “No, we all were concerned, even if we never said anything out loud about it.”

“I know.” You rest your head on his chest again, his heartbeat making it to your ear through his sweater. You close your eyes. “Yeah, too many appointments this week…” And in general…seems like every other week, you’ve had to ask Seth or Lorne to step out to see someone…

“…but everything’s okay, right?” Bill asks, voice rumbling and muffled in your ear. You remain quiet for a while.

“It’ll be fine,” you finally say. “Everything will be fine.”

Bill’s fingers pause for just a second before resuming their up-and-down run along your arm. After a time, you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

You kind of…don’t want to do the show. You just kinda want to stay in this room, curled up against Bill, pretending the real world and all of its problems don’t exist, even if just for a day or so. Pretend that you don’t have any big announcements to make or earths to shatter or anything to worry about.

You open your eyes at a knock on the door and your name as a question.

So much for sweet oblivion.

“Can I just run over some things with you really quick?” Seth asks. You sigh and give Bill’s waist a little squeeze before withdrawing yourself from him, kissing your cheek as he kisses yours before you rise from the couch.

“What’s up, Seth?” you ask, walking beside him in the hall.

“Just wanted to double-check that you’re still good to do ‘Weekend Update’ in the live show tonight,” Seth says. “Audience liked your segment a lot.”

“Yes, of course,” you say, your step and words pausing a bit after. “…actually…”

“What?” Seth’s steps pause as well.

“The second half of the segment is gonna be a little different. Just a heads-up.” Seth raises his eyebrows but says nothing. “I ran it by Lorne this morning. He’s fine with it.”

“…okay…any reason you didn’t want to just do the different segment at dress rehearsal?” Seth asks slowly.

“There is, actually, and I can’t explain right now, but…” You fiddle with a loose string at the sleeve of your sweater. “Lorne okayed it already, so…”

“…okay…if Lorne’s cool with it, I’ll trust him and you.” The skepticism in his voice betrays how he probably actually feels, but he doesn’t question it further. Not on that front, anyway. “Everything okay?”

Apparently, you need to stop acting the way you’re acting, because you’re rapidly getting sick of that question.

“Fine,” you say. “I actually need to find Mulaney and talk to him about something.” Seth nods as you wave a little goodbye and try to find wherever Mulaney may be lurking.

Turns out, his office.

“Hey John,” you greet with a knock. “So you know that sketch we wrote for the end of the show?”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell, why?” he answers, spinning in his desk chair. You roll your eyes.

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up,” you say, “things MAY play out a little…not according to script. I don’t really know yet.”

“Ooh…” John stops his spinning and grins up at you. “Is chicanery afoot?”

“It might be?” you say.

“Well, I’m all FOR chicanery,” he says with an eager smile and a clap of his hands. “By all means, desecrate the script for the sake of chicanery.”

“Only if you stop using the word ‘chicanery.’.”

“It’s a deal.”

The two of you shake hands over it, and then you’re off to start preparing for the episode proper. With steadying breaths and trembling hands and just…so many worries. It’s amazing your makeup isn’t a complete mess with how much your hands shake.

“Need me to find Bill?” Kristen asks when she notices you taking one deep breath too many. “I’m sure he’s getting just as anxious.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, with a smile you know Kristen doesn’t buy. “I just…kinda want tonight to be over.”

“Why?”

“…never mind. Stupid.”

Kristen, still not buying it, hugs you, then turns you so you’re both facing the mirror, Kristen holding your arms and peering over your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the glass.

“Just remember; you’re funny as hell, talented as hell, pretty as hell, you’ve got legs to die for, a killer rack—”

“God, okay, Kristen, I get it!” you laugh, turning to hug her again. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. Ask Bill. He totally agrees with me on all those fronts. Especially the rack one.”

“But he doesn’t think I’m talented or that I have legs to die for? Jerk.”

“He thinks all of the things I said. Believe me. You should go and ask him yourself.”

“You just want to win a chunk of money in the betting pool, don’t you? That’s why you’re telling me all of this?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You guys are ridiculous…”

“Tonight will be great,” Kristen declares once more, with a confident smile.

“We’ll see,” you say with your own smaller smile.

***

The first half of the show goes without many hitches. You don’t break character at all, despite others trying to get you to break (or stuff just going wrong). Bill hasn’t had any terrible anxiety bouts yet (and you always keep an eye out for when it gets bad).

And then it’s time for “Weekend Update.” Seth kicks things into gear, a segment with one of Fred’s characters, and then a bit more news from Seth before he introduces you.

You roll in on your chair and nod at the cheering audience, smiling over at Seth and giving him a little wave of greeting.

“So, you wanted to talk about a film that’s rapidly become a cult classic, correct?” Seth says.

“Correct,” you affirm, nodding at him before turning towards the camera and the audience. “Before I get deep into the bit, show of hands: who’s ever watched or heard of Tommy Wiseau and/or ‘The Room’?” Some cheers and laughter as you raise your hand. “Oh hai, audience.” You wave a little to more laughter.

The bit goes as normally planned and performed at dress rehearsal, to even better reception now as it had received then.

“It has such terrible shot composition and mise en scéne that I actually feel bad for even saying those words” is the line that made Mulaney laugh the hardest, and even if the audience didn’t like it, you kept it in anyways. (Thankfully, it garners enough of a chuckle from the crowd.)

“Probably my favorite line in the whole film comes from Lisa’s mother, Claudette, who I’m ALMOST positive is secretly sisters with Amy’s Aunt Linda,” you say, taking a moment to emulate some of Kristen’s mannerisms as said movie critic character, much to the audience’s amusement. “So there’s this scene where Claudette tells Lisa…VERY nonchalantly, mind you…that she’s dying, which is…par for the course with this character up to this point. But then she says this, and exactly like this.” You pause, assume your best posture and voice for Claudette, and quote thusly:

[“I got the results of the test back. I definitely have breast cancer.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtMQhTxR6t4)

Pause for wild laughter. Even from Seth. Even though he’s already seen you do this.

“After seeing that movie, I promised myself that if I were ever diagnosed with something terrible, that I would break the news EXACTLY like she did,” you say.

“Wow,” Seth says, glancing at the cue cards. “I, uh…I don’t think many people would appreciate that.”

“Yeah, probably not…” you chuckle a little before clearing your throat, smile faltering before dimming. “So, um…funny thing about that line and what I just said about it…”

By now, Seth seems to have cottoned on to when changes to the routine were going to happen, given the absence of any cue cards for you.

“So…I had my annual doctor visit recently and there were some…abnormalities that came up,” you say, clasping your hands on the desk to hide how badly they’re shaking right now. “And I had to go back in and have some tests done and…then I had to go back AGAIN for more tests and scans and stuff and…well…appointment after appointment and I finally received the diagnosis and…” Your eyes dart between the audience and your hands but purposely avoid Seth or anyone else off camera who’s watching from the sidelines. You take in a deep steadying breath and drop the news you’d given Lorne earlier today:

“I got the results of the test back…I definitely have breast cancer.”

The delivery is not in the same tone as Claudette’s. Your voice shakes too much, your tone too serious. But there’s some nervous laughter regardless. Seth begins to speak your name, probably ask you what kind of stunt you’re pulling, but you barrel on.

“This isn’t part of a bit,” you clarify. “This isn’t a joke. I go in for treatment starting this coming week, so I, um…” You pause, needing a moment to swallow around the lump that’s suddenly formed in your throat. “I won’t be around here for a while.”

The pin seems to have fully dropped. No laughter, but not complete silence, either. Just…a ripple of sound, like hurried whispering.

“Wait…” You look over at Seth; his eyes are wide, face pulled in the sort of grimace one has when one feels sick. “You’re serious? This is…”

You nod.

“I have…like, x-rays and paperwork and stuff confirming it,” you say right before Seth rolls his chair closer and scoops you into a hug. Again, nothing from the audience but a faint murmur. You pat Seth’s shoulder a couple of times as his hold on you tightens, and when he pulls away you swear you catch his sweeping a hand over his eyes.

“You’re barely past 30,” he says, still sounding like he’s in shock. “It should be at least another…like, 10 years for that kind of diagnosis.”

“I know, it’s rare in women of my age, and even rarer for women younger than me, but it does happen. And…I know the news sounds scary, but it’s not…like, I’m not announcing my own death sentence or anything. We found it at a very early stage, and provided I go in for treatment right away, everything should be fine in a matter of months. Doctors are REALLY confident about the outcome, all things considering. I just…wanted to tell everyone, all at once, so I didn’t have to break this news over and over again.”

“And you really thought the best way to break that news to everyone was segueing into it via discussions of terrible films?” Seth asks.

“I mean…” You shrug. “You know a better way?”

Some members of the audience do laugh, seemingly in spite of themselves, but Seth doesn’t look entirely amused.

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he says, almost incredulous. “You couldn’t have given us a little warning about this?” He turns to address the audience. “This isn’t scripted right now, I had NO idea about this. NONE of us did.”

“Lorne knew,” you clarify. “I got the okay from him to break the news like this and…I know the second half of the show may be a little weird, maybe I should’ve done this near the end of the show, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to risk making the ENTIRE show a bummer by telling you all this afternoon, so…”

You prop your elbows on the table, palms pressed together, and rest your head against your steepled fingers and sigh. At the feeling of Seth’s hand rubbing your back, you lift your head again.

“Besides, this way, everyone knows at once,” you say. “It’s horrible news to share, and I wanted to share it as few times as possible.”

“How long have you known?” Seth asks.

“Received the official diagnosis yesterday. Like…the doctors had suspicions before then, but I didn’t want to say anything or worry anyone until it was confirmed what it was.”

“Understandable,” Seth says with a nod.

“Like, I haven’t been hiding it, it’s not like this is something I knew for a while and needed to get off my chest or whatev—oh no…”

You cover your face with the realization of what you said as Seth chuckles a little “Oh god…” It takes the audience a bit to catch on, but when the realization hits them, it’s a mixture of laughter, some cheering and applause, and quite a few “Oh’s”.

“That was unintentional,” you say when you uncover your face.

“Was it?” Seth asks, voice high with skepticism.

“I mean…I AM one of those people that uses humor to cope with tragedy,” you say, “but I know everyone isn’t, so…I really was trying to hold in all of that.”

“Okay…”

You point at Seth.

“And if y’all don’t make at least a few jokes about me while I’m gone, I will be VERY upset,” you tell him. Seth looks so conflicted about laughing, but does nonetheless.

“Anything else?”

“…watch ‘The Room,’ it’s great.”

With that, Seth decides it’s time to close out “Weekend Update.” It’s a little awkward, but it probably would have been regardless, given the turn the segment took. The audience does applaud it out, though, as they would any normal episode, camera zooming out as Seth leans over to hug you again.

Kristen is the first to sweep you up into a tight hug as soon as you get off the set. People rush around you to get things ready for the next sketch, but Kristen makes no effort to clear the way.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispers over and over in your ear and you hug her back and insist it’s okay. “I feel so horrible, I hope you aren’t mad at me.”

“Wait, Kristen, what?” you ask. She lets you go, brushes a tear away.

“Earlier, before the show, when I was giving you that little pep talk,” she explains. “I…the thing about having a killer rack—”

“Oh my god, Kristen, it’s fine, you didn’t know,” you say, hugging her again. “Really, it’s okay.”

You’re not in any other sketches until the last one with Bill, but you have to pull yourself away from everyone lined up to hug you and say all the usual things one says to someone who’s been diagnosed with a serious illness. Because you need to be camera-ready and mentally ready to finish the show out.

Waiting outside the door as you walk down the hall is John. You give him a sheepish little wave.

“So, um…that was not the type of chicanery I expected.” You honestly appreciate that he’s not doing what everyone else has been.

“Yeah.”

“…also, I looked up the word ‘chicanery’ and we have been grossly misusing it.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Silent falls between the two of you for a bit.

“Thanks for the warning about…” John gestures vaguely, as if to refer to the last sketch. “I don’t really know how that’s gonna go now.”

“Where Bill is concerned?” you ask. John nods.

People have come and gone to hug it out with you when whatever sketch they were in or were getting ready for ends. The one exception to this has been Bill.

“You know how in ‘Scared Straight’ sketches, Kenan and the host always get Bill to break?” John says. You nod. “He didn’t break at all tonight during that one.”

Well…fuck.

“Starting to feel like I should’ve at least told HIM before—” you think aloud, but John shakes his head.

“I think that would just thrown him off his rhythm for the entire night,” John says. “But…I was there with him during ‘Weekend Update’ and—”

“John, please don’t. That’s…that’s not fair to Bill.” He closes his mouth, nodding.

You really don’t need to know Bill’s initial reaction to the news. Rather…you don’t WANT to know. Because out of all your friends, you know it’s hit him the hardest.

“I’ll let you get ready,” John says in the guise of a farewell.

You grab his wrist as he turns to walk away. He wastes no time in hugging you just as tight as you hug him. You close your eyes and allow yourself to break the tiniest bit from the “everything’s going to be okay” façade you’ve been trying to keep all night. Allow a few tears to fall as you feel John kiss the side of your head, fisting your fingers into the back of his shirt.

“…okay, I really do need to get ready,” you say after too long of, but also too short of, a time.

“Yeah.” John’s as reluctant to let you go. But it needs to happen so you can duck into the dressing room. “I’ll go call off the new cue cards.”

“…you were gonna throw new shit at us, weren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a horse’s ass, Mulaney.” He shrugs and smiles at you with watery eyes.

The premise of the sketch you and he and Bill had worked on is as follows: a couple on their anniversary trying on their wedding attire for kicks, to see if it still fits. (It does not…not entirely.) And then reminiscing about their wedding. Said reminiscences start normal enough, and then venture into weirder and weirder territory. Which is where John was probably going to insert the new cue cards to get you and/or Bill to corpse on camera.

It would all end with you turning on the CD player to play one of the songs from the reception, and then dancing with Bill over a few more shared very odd memories.

Weird, but sweet. Which tends to be a recurring theme for you-and-Bill sketches.

That was the plan. Now…you’re not really sure. You can only assume you’ll both be able to get through it as originally scripted. Perform it how the two of you performed it during dress rehearsal. At least, YOU intend to.

Things will start as normal, and hopefully carry out that way.

And it does, a little back and forth between Bill on camera, asking if you need help with the dress, you behind a door telling him you’ve got it. And then you open the door to walk on.

“Kinda wish we had the processional music right now,” you say, walking over to him.

“Theme from ‘Jurassic Park’?” Bill says. Your “Yeah” gets lost in the laughter. “…you look just as beautiful now as you did then.”

“…even though the fit’s not as good anymore?” you ask.

“I mean…” Bill glances down at his suit and lifts his arms. “I’ve apparently been stretched out since our wedding, or this jacket magically shrunk.”

“Yeah, it’s how I feel in this now,” you say, glancing down at the dress. “Bodice is looser now than it was.”

“Is it zipped up all the way?”

“Yeah, it’s just…you know I’ve lost some weight recently and, well…boobs are always the first thing to go.”

That line had gotten a mild chuckle at dress rehearsal from women who could relate to such weight loss woes. Now, it draws some shocked laughs, some “Oh’s,” and Bill’s face falling into something more grim. You freeze with the realization.

“No, I didn’t…” you try to improvise an explanation, try to keep in character, make it seem plausible for the sketch. But…kind of impossible. “I didn’t mean that, you KNOW I didn’t mean that…”

“Yeah,” Bill says with a nod, though the sullenness remains. He has the next line, and there’s no indication from him that he’s going to say it. Rather, he walks around the couch again to sit down. So…you improvise.

“I found the veil, but it’s a little torn in some places,” you say with a smile that hopefully comes across as natural. “I think something must have happened when we moved…ooh, maybe we could repurpose these for Halloween this year, go as, like, a zombie bride and groom something.” A few mild chuckles. Nothing from Bill, so you keep on going. “Wish I hadn’t repurposed my bouquet into potpourri, would make a great prop. …oh well, I can get a new one, get you a boutonnière, let them sit out for a week or two so they’re all wilted and dying and—”

You pause when you see Bill shaking his head.

“…oooookay, no zombies,” you say. A few mild, uncomfortable laughs. You walk around the other side of the couch to sit in a chair next to it. “What about ‘Corpse Bride’ then? You be Victor, I be Emily? Ooh, or Haunted Mansion, I think there’s a ghost bride in—”

“Just stop, okay?” Bill says-almost-snaps, making you jump in your seat. “Don’t talk about being a zombie or a corpse or a ghost, I can’t…”

It’s very clear, to you and the audience, that whatever semblance of a sketch there was supposed to be is rapidly slipping away. And you’re close enough to Bill now to see him trembling a little, though he’s covered his face with a hand. It’s not the trembling that comes when he’s battling an anxiety attack on camera. It’s…different. Like he’s trying to actively keep himself from bursting into tears.

“…talk to me,” you say, leaning forward to place a hand on his knee. When the touch he didn’t expect makes him jolt, you quickly withdraw your hand, letting it fall into your lap with the other hand. He shakes his head.

“Never mind—”

“No,” you stop him. “We’re already talking about it. Let’s talk.”

After a long beat, he looks up at you. And he looks so hurt and lost and almost crushed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice small and wavering.

“I didn’t know until just yesterday,” is all you can think to say.

“I know, and…I know why you did what you did…I just…wish you’d told me.”

_I wish you’d told me in private. That I didn’t have to find out through the show._ You know that’s what he means.

“I’m sorry.” And you are. “It was…agony…calling my parents with the news. And…I knew I wasn’t strong enough to do that over and over again. So…” Your words trail off. “I needed to be selfish when it came to that. I’m sorry.”

It’s another long, painful moment for the audience, and you’re half-expecting for the lights to go down and Lorne to call an end to this. Then Bill speaks again.

“You say everything was fine,” he says.

“I said everything would be fine,” you return.

“How the hell is this fine?!”

“It could be way worse than it is.”

“It’s bad enough!”

You stand and turn away from him, ready to just…walk off and put an end to it, were it not for Bill continuing to speak.

“How the hell can you be so calm? How can you make jokes about this or laugh about this?” he asks.

“Because if I don’t, I’m going to completely break down,” you answer, whirling around to face him. “If given the option between trying to find humor in in a horrible situation or giving into despair, I’ll choose the humor every time. It is MY tragedy. I should be the ONLY one who gets a damn say in how I cope with it.”

You hadn’t meant to, or wanted to, share this vulnerability with the world.

Bill turns away during the middle of your answer. And that…hurts more than you expect. And more than ever, you think he’s right. That you should have broken the news privately, to him at the very least. He deserved better.

You cross your arms and look down, reaching up to pinch at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry—” you begin.

“No, I’m sorry.” You look up at Bill speaking. He’s turned to face you. “It’s just…you’re my best friend and…” His voice cracks a little, and he has to pause, look down, gather himself. “You’re more than that. I love you. I’m IN LOVE with you and…I don’t want to lose you.”

It’s the moment every single one of your friends has been betting on and waiting for. That fans online have been waiting for and would lose their heads over. That confession. And the only sounds in the room are a few audience members quietly crying or sniffling as Bill looks back down at his hands.

It’s not a surprise to you in the slightest. It’s the unspoken in how close your friendship has become. Never addressed until now. Never spoken until now, for no real reason.

Well…they haven’t brought an end to the show yet so…damned if you won’t put some of the sketch to use.

You walk over to the CD player, press a few buttons on it. An acoustic guitar begins to play softly. You walk over to Bill, who turns towards the source of the music before looking up at you and hold a hand out to him. He stands as he takes your hand, and you pull him towards you, into a dancing position. The dancing position most newly married couples take at their reception—groom’s hand at the bride’s waist, bride’s hand at the back of the groom’s shoulder, their other hands joined as they sway back and forth, almost in a circle.

There was originally a joke about how [April Come She Will](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYD-DIggB2k) sounds all romantic and shit, especially in the first few lines, but really it’s a SUPER sad song when you listen to the whole thing carefully.

No jokes now.

“You won’t lose me,” you say softly, hand moving from his shoulder to his face, fingers splaying against his cheek as you stare into his watery eyes. He blinks, loosing a tear. When it hits your thumb, you brush it away.

“Aren’t you scared?” Bill asks. You smile up at him, blinking back your own tears.

“I’m terrified,” you confess.

Because you are. Despite how confident your doctors are right now about the state of things, you don’t know how quickly that could change. You don’t know how this is all going to turn out.

As much as you say everything will be fine, and as much as everything seems like it will be fine, you don’t actually know that with complete certainty.

You duck your head a little and close your eyes as Bill presses a kiss to your forehead.

“You won’t lose me, either,” he says. “I’ll be right there for you…if you want me there.”

The swaying stops as you look at him. You don’t have to crane your neck to look at him; he’s tall, but not THAT much taller than you.

So it’s not much of a stretch of your neck, nor is it even a push on to tiptoe, when you lean up to kiss him.

The two of you have kissed before for the show, ranging from quick pecks on the cheek to sloppy makeouts (sloppiness played up for the sake of comedy…you’ve licked the man’s face, for fuck’s sake).

But any pretense of this being a sketch is long gone, and it’s not character kissing character. It’s you kissing Bill. It’s Bill kissing you. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. The execution being familiar, but the intent—the meaning behind such an action—unfamiliar.

Were this any other sketch, any other time, the audience would be losing its goddamn mind at this point. Deafening cheers and catcalls.

Not a sound from them.

Not even a heartfelt “Aw…” when the kiss ends with you saying to Bill, “I love you, too…I’m IN LOVE with you, too.”

You wipe away another tear from Bill’s cheek before giving him another short kiss.

Declarations made, some sort of closure cemented between the two of you in everything that’s happened tonight, the two of you sway in comfortable silence for several more seconds of the song, the cameras finally pulling away, the lights finally coming down.

***

Afterparty for the episode ends up being at your favorite of the regular locations. One of the quieter ones, with a giant back room that fits most everyone who attends.

A lot of hugs. A lot of tears. And some jokes.

Once the alcohol begins to hit people’s systems, everyone seems more open to your “use humor to cope” strategy. And you reiterate time and again that everyone should still celebrate a great episode and, you know, treat the afterparty like a PARTY.

That said, you do spend most of the time there tucked away in a table in the corner with Bill and John.

“You’re coming back, right?” John asks while sipping at a Shirley Temple. “Like, Lorne will let you come back when you’re better, right?”

“We did talk about that when I broke the news this morning,” you say after taking a drink from your glass of seltzer and lime. “He would be happy to see me come back, but if I decided I didn’t want to, he would understand.”

“Do you want to? I mean, I’m already in my head rewriting the lyrics to ‘The Bitch Is Back’ for your first comeback performance.”

“God, you know me so well, Mulaney.”

Bill remains quiet most of the time there, but in higher spirits than earlier in the night. He stays by your side as often as possible, a hand always at your waist, curling around your wrist, settling around your shoulders when you lean back in your chair.

Probably says a LOT that it’s only SLIGHTLY more touchy-feely than how it’s normally been between the two of you up until now. And it feels less out of a general sense of closeness and more…him just needing to know you’re still there.

“I’m not gonna disappear, you know,” you say at one point when John goes to replace his Shirley Temple with a Freddie Bartholomew.

“Yeah, I know,” Bill says, thumb running over your wrist, pressing gently over a spot where a vein leaps with every beat of your heart. You slip your hand out of his grasp only to cover his with it. He immediately turns it over to press his palm to yours and weave your fingers.

“You seen anyone settle any bets yet?” you ask, glancing at the crowd. They’ve still been smiling at the picture you and Bill make, but less in the sly “are they or aren’t they” sense and more in a “they’re so cute together” sense. “Who do you think won big money?”

“Don’t really care,” Bill says, pulling you closer to brush a kiss against your cheek.

The chairs don’t allow for as much closeness as a booth would. The arms of the chairs kind of get in the way. But it doesn’t stop you from leaning over enough, almost uncomfortably so, to use Bill’s shoulder as a pillow.

“You’re ready to leave, aren’t you?” you ask. “I know you hate these.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah, you hate them, or yeah, you want to leave?”

“…yes.”

You pinch some of the skin on the top of his hand. He returns the favor.

“…come home with me tonight?” he asks.

It wouldn’t be the first time the two of you have crashed at your place or his place because splitting cab fare is cheaper and/or [insert breakfast food] at [insert name of diner] sounds like a good plan for the morning and wouldn’t you know, it just happens to be a block away from your/Bill’s place.

But there’s a vulnerability in his voice when Bill asks that same question tonight. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it plea.

“Yeah, okay.”

After a few more farewells…okay, more than a few…you can’t really escape all the hugs given, under the circumstances…you and Bill take your leave.

The cab ride home is quiet. One could be forgiven for thinking one or both of you fell asleep during the drive. But you’re awake, watching the streetlights blur by out of the same window Bill’s looking out of.

“…do you want to talk about it tonight or tomorrow?” you ask as the driver slows to a stop at a red light.

“Tomorrow,” Bill says. “Get some sleep first.”

You nod, adjusting your grip on the folder from this morning, with the paperwork you’d shown Lorne. You’d kept it hidden at the studio, and at the party. Didn’t want anyone to find it and try an comprehend everything it said.

Walking into Bill’s apartment, there’s a spot for your shoes at the door, next to his. Bill digs out the clothes you’ve usually stolen as pajamas the past times you’ve spent the night. A spare unused toothbrush is on hand from a previous visit to the dentist.

You think about the setup you have for Bill at your own apartment…clothes he’d left when they got mixed in with your laundry once and he forgot to take them before he left. A bag of his favorite coffee blend on hand in the pantry.

This…really should have been more of a foregone conclusion. You two getting your shit together and…well…getting together.

And as you settle into your side of the bed and listen to Bill brushing his teeth, you have to wonder why you never discussed it sooner. Why it waited until…not the very last possible second. But when that very last possible second seemed closer than before.

Why it took something this terrible for feelings to finally be admitted.

And you can’t get past the very real possibility that things will end up…not fine. That your doctors will be wrong, your days numbered, treatments harsh on body and mind, until you waste away to nothing, leaving Bill alone and devastates after far too short of a life shared.

You don’t look up from your reverie as Bill lies down next to you. Not until you feel a hand cup your cheek, Bill’s thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t known was sliding down your face. That’s when you look up at him, blinking more tears free.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you say. About your illness. About your feelings.

Bill says nothing—just pulls you closer as more tears fall.

Your façade had already started to crack during the last sketch. But you finally feel it shatter in these late night/early morning hours, with all energy drained after performing, from sharing news, from confessing your love for someone so publicly. From always feeling comfortable enough around Bill to feel like you CAN shatter like this.

But also from the number of tests and scans that have been done over so many weeks. From what the future holds, in treatment and recovery and so many unknowns. From praying that your future will be the longer one your doctors are confident in, not a shorter one. From the cancer that lurks inside you, and a fear that somehow, between your last appointment and now, it has grown exponentially, leaving the road ahead rockier than once thought.

Even Bill can’t completely console you right now, because of all fears you have right now, the strongest one at this moment is not having as many days with him as you could have.

And from the occasional sniffle and sharp inhale you catch between your own, you wonder if he’s not fearing the same thing.

You’re not really sure if you stop crying before sleep takes you.

***

When you first stir to consciousness in the morning, you fear a crying hangover. There have been nights you’ve cried yourself to sleep and felt like absolute garbage the rest of the day.

Right now, though…no terrible headache…no desire to sleep through the rest of the day like you normally would with a crying hangover…things look okay on that front.

It’s morning, at the very least. You haven’t opened your eyes yet, but from behind your eyelids, the room has some brightness from the sun. You inhale through your nose, stifling a yawn as you stretch a little, accidentally nudging something with your hand.

Then the something groans a little. And you remember the something is a someone.

You turn your head to the side to see where exactly it is you accidentally hit Bill, wincing when your see your hand still in the vicinity of his face, scrunched up in confusion.

“Sorry,” you whisper, turning your hand to cup his cheek.

“S’okay,” he mumbles, rubbing sleep out of one eye.

“Where’d I hit you?” you ask. Bill points at a spot, and you move your thumb to run over his skin. “Accident. Was stretching.”

“Said it’s okay.” Bill punctuates his point with a kiss to your palm. “Also, morning.”

“Morning,” you return, smiling when Bill reaches to cover the top of your hand with his, pressing your hand even more firmly to his cheek. “You need to shave.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“…actually, you don’t have to.”

“You like the scruff?”

“Don’t hate it.”

“You totally love it,” Bill teases, “because you totally love me.”

“Yeah, well…you love me back, so…”

“…yeah, I do.”

He runs his thumb over the top of your hand and just…smiles at you for a while.

“How much do you care about morning breath?” he asks.

“…how much do YOU care about morning breath?” you ask back.

In lieu of an answer, he leans in to kiss you. Just for a moment.

“Awful?” he asks, referring once again to morning breath. “Should I go brush my teeth?”

“I mean…” You shrug. “I don’t LOVE it, but I also kinda don’t care and would just rather kiss you some more.” A pause. “Unless MY morning breath warrants some mouthwash or—”

Bill kisses you again midsentence. His hand pulls your hand away from his face before lacing your fingers, pressing your joined hands into the pillow. You fist a hand into the soft, worn cotton of an old college t-shirt of his and tug him closer, rolling back so he can get on top of you.

Again, like last night, this kind of kissing is not NEW. Not with Bill. But there’s a big difference between Bill slipping his tongue into your mouth for a crowd of cheering people and Kristen and Fred having some sort of freakout around you for the cameras, and Bill slipping his tongue into your mouth as the weight of his body presses you into the mattress.

And yeah, the morning breath isn’t GREAT, but you couldn’t care too much about it right now, not with one of Bill’s legs caught between yours and his fingers brush against the skin of your waist where your shirt rides up. Not when the hand that had been holding yours trails up the bare skin of your thigh. Not when you reach up to thread fingers into his hair and he gasps into your mouth when one catches a tangle.

(You KNEW that hadn’t been just “part of the bit,” you think as you more purposely tug at Bill’s hair again, garnering a moan into your mouth and an answer to a VERY interesting reaction he’d had after a certain sketch where you’d done that.)

“We’re dumb,” you comment as Bill breaks away for a moment to kiss your neck. “We’re so fucking dumb.”

“Yep,” he murmurs against your skin.

“We should’ve talked this out ages ago.” Words break off for a moment as Bill finds a spot beneath your jaw neither of you were aware was so sensitive. “Could’ve been doing this so much sooner.”

You half-expect (and kind of WANT) Bill to continue working that spot until your toes curl, but he just presses one more light kiss to it before kissing you again.

“So…” It’s Bill’s turn to speak as you cover his neck with kisses. “…hate to kinda kill the mood but…”

“Then don’t,” you say before leaning up to nip at his earlobe (before noting how he flinches when you do, and kissing it in apology).

“Gotta ask anyway,” he says. “How…annoyed…would your doctors be at the presence of hickeys?”

...that gets you to pause.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love…you, this, what we’ve been doing so far this morning but…”

His legs untangle from yours as you two sort of settle into your waking position as he speaks.

“I don’t know if…this or…more than this…would interfere with whenever you start treatment.”

“Tuesday,” you say.

He makes a point.

Despite having told your doctors that you weren’t in a relationship at the moment, some of the stuff they’d given you to read had to do with sexual intimacy during or following cancer treatment. Nowhere did it say anything about before. As in, literally a few days before.

“…I don’t know,” you say. “Didn’t think to ask about that. Obviously.” You glance up at him. “This…wasn’t exactly a thing back then.”

“Yeah. We’re dumb.” Bill pauses. “…if I’m being presumptive, I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not. Obviously you’re not. I liked this morning, too. And I wouldn’t have minded…more.” You pause, looking away. “One of my doctors gave me their number in case I had any questions or problems before treatment started. I can call a little later and figure that out. …unless I’M being presumptive now.”

Bill reaches up and places his thumb against that sensitive spot on your neck.

“If it weren’t for that question, we wouldn’t be talking right now,” he says, voice low as his thumb runs lightly over your neck. “I’d be searching for every part that makes you shiver, and I would not leave it alone until I’d marked it up and left you begging for me to stop.”

As he speaks, his thumb slowly presses more and more into that spot, and damn if that sensation and his words don’t want you saying “fuck it” to the questions and making him make good on what he said.

But…points have been made. And reality’s a bitch.

“…we should put a pin in this for now,” you say, reaching up for his hand and pulling it away from your neck. “Take care of the morning breath.” You kiss his hand. “Get some breakfast.”

***

Over breakfast, you explain the contents of the folder as best you can to Bill. Bloodwork results. What the plan is for treatment as of now. Show him the image from your mammogram, point out what all the different spots are, which ones are cancer, which ones are other things.

Seeing everything laid out seems to bring a sense of calm to Bill, seeing the size of what you’ll be battling, what the game plan is. How when you’d said everything will be fine, you actually kind of meant it.

It’s still cancer. It’s not GREAT. But it could DEFINITELY be worse.

As Bill washes up the breakfast dishes, you duck into the bathroom to call your doctor and leave a message, just saying you had a question and if they could get back to you as soon as possible, that would be great. Nothing horrible, you promise.

Bill gets a call a little later in the morning, while you two are watching something on Turner Classic Movies (neither of you know the name; it was just on when you flipped to that channel).

“That was Lorne,” he says when he comes back. “Gave me tomorrow off.” You sit up so he can sit down again.

“Any reason?” you ask.

“He figured I would want to spend the day with you,” he says, arm settling around you as you curl back up into your prior movie-watching position: your head on Bill’s lap as he plays with your hair.

The movie’s all right. You never do find out the name of it, but it seems like the kind of thing that would have been on “Mystery Science Theater 3000.” Only you just watched it with no Crow, Tom Servo, and Joel or Mike.

Later in the afternoon, Bill steps out to grab some lunch from a nearby street vendor that’s usually open on Sundays that you both like. When he’s gone happens to be when your doctor calls you back. Despite knowing Bill won’t be back before the phone call ends, you take the phone conversation to the bedroom. Just in case. For privacy.

When Bill comes back, you rise from where you’d been sitting on the couch, bouncing your leg, arms crossed, waiting for his return.

“Everything okay?” he asks, setting a couple of bags on the table in the dining room as you walk over to him.

“Doctor called back while you were out,” you begin. Bill stops withdrawing wrapped packages of food from one of the bags.

“And?”

“Sex…should not be a problem the day or two before treatment,” you begin. “So long as it’s safe. Pregnancy and cancer treatment don’t mix well. At all.”

“Yeah. Makes sense.”

“They’re not…WILD about hickeys…like, bruising isn’t REALLY a symptom of breast cancer, at least, hickey-like bruises aren’t, but…like, just in case there’s bruising during TREATMENT, I don’t know, that SHOULDN’T happen, but…” You shrug. “As long as I know the source of every bruise, that should ALSO be fine.”

“I mean…I can keep myself under control when it comes to that,” Bill says, taking the last few things out of the bag and beginning to move things to the fridge. “So…”

“…I mean, I can still give YOU hickeys, right?” you ask. “You have any problem with that?”

“Not at all.” You almost laugh with how quickly Bill answers you. “Mark me up as much as you want.”

“Good to know,” you say with a nod.

The tension permeating the room is weird and kind of wonderful.

“…I’m assuming you were okay with eating later?” Bill says, pointing at the fridge. “We can eat now if you want—”

“No, later’s fine. I’m cool with later for that, like…” You nod. “Yeah, I just…really want you right now.”

“…cool. Cool cool cool.”

Were it not for the counter behind you, Bill would have knocked you to the floor with the force at which he throws himself at you to kiss you. And you do groan a little from the impact. But Bill gets his hands behind your back and under your ass to lift you up to sit on the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as he soothes the small of your back with his touch.

“Are we good to do this?” you manage to ask between frantic kisses as you fumble with the buttons of his flannel. “Do you have stuff?”

“Bought stuff while I was out just in case,” he says, shrugging the flannel off.

“You’re so fucking smart.”

“No, just hopeful.”

You laugh into another kiss as you try to make work of his belt, distracted by the hand in your hair and the other hand teasing you further and further up your thigh.

“Okay, bedroom,” Bill says after a few more moments of trying to undress each other and kinda failing at it. “If this is finally happening, it’s not gonna be in the kitchen.”

“Agreed.”

***

“I’m so happy you have the day off tomorrow,” you say, much later, once you’ve both caught your breath and the afterglow wears off a little.

“Same,” he says. He looks over at you. “Was it as good as you’d hoped and dreamed?” He waggles his eyebrows.

You slap his shoulder, as you usually do when he sasses you. But because you’re both still sans clothes, your palm smacks his skin.

“You’re implying I’d thought of this before,” you tease, kissing his shoulder where it turns red from your smack.

“Had you?”

“…not seriously, no,” you say. “I think I did DREAM about it, once or twice, like…RIGHT when we met and I just thought you were a cute dork. I never thought about it too seriously, though.”

“…well? Did real life me live up to dreamy dorky me?”

“I mean, you’re still a dork.”

“So yes?”

You kiss him in lieu of carrying on this silly line of questioning further. Not as incentive to go into round two (not yet, anyway…). Just to shut him up.

“What about you?” you ask as you pull away. “You ever think about it? Or dream about it?” Bill looks down for a moment before nodding.

“Like you, not…seriously, at first,” he says. “But it did stay with me. Like…I’d think back on it sometimes.” You must pull a face. “Not like that, no, I’m not saying I’d think about you while I—”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or not by that,” you laugh.

“I meant in the sense that…like…you know, there were times where someone would ask something stupid like ‘If you had to hook up with a fellow cast member, who would it be?’ and I NEVER answered because fuck that. But I’d still think about an answer to that and…you were first answer every time.”

“First answer?”

“…only answer, really.”

“Not even Kristen? If it wasn’t you-and-me talk, it was you-and-Kristen talk.”

“Neither Kristen nor I would be able to take that scenario seriously in the slightest, are you kidding?”

You can’t help but laugh, kissing his shoulder again. This his cheek. Then his lips.

“What about you?” Bill asks, pulling away. “You ever get that question?”

“No. Was never at these weird conversations YOU partook in.” You try to think back though. “…I think Mulaney and I joked about it ONCE, while we were both the only sober ones at an afterparty, and joked about what a sober hookup would be like as opposed to a drunken hookup.” You look back over at Bill. “But like you said about you and Kristen, we were both laughing way too hard to even seriously consider making that a reality.”

“…I mean, if there WAS someone else I could see you hooking up with, it would be John.”

“Yeah, well…I like you more.” You kiss him. “Lots more.” Another kiss. And another. And another.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

The two of you smile at each other for a bit, Bill reaching up to brush some har out of your face.

“…are you feeling okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you at all?”

“No, I’m…you’re fine, Bill,” you say, kissing his palm as his hand brushes over your cheek. “It’s been a while, but that’s normal. I’m fine.” His hand continues its trail down your neck, skimming over your collarbone, resting on your shoulder, stopping just above your breasts. Where his eyes linger.

Of every part of your body he’d explored and touched and kissed, he’d purposely avoided your breasts.

“Where is it again?” he asks, looking up at you. You take one of his hands.

“Somewhere around here,” you say, placing his palm over one breast, in the vicinity of where the cancer hides. “You won’t be able to feel it if you squeeze or press to find it. Too small for that.” You drop your hands, leaving his where it is. He stares at his hand over your skin for a long while.

“I wasn’t sure if…if I would hurt you at all if…” he tried to explain.

“It’s okay, Bill,” you say. “I mean…I kinda wanted to say, not sure if they’ll be like this for much longer so…cop a feel while you can.” He pulls his hand away. You shift a little closer to him, your head resting on his pillow now. “I don’t know what all of this is going to do to my body, so…this is probably as good as I’ll ever look when we…”

As you say what you say, it seems telling that he looks at your face as you speak. Into your eyes. Not looking you up and down as if to take it all in one last time.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “And you will always be beautiful. No matter what.”

“…even if I end up losing…like…a dangerous amount of weight from treatment?” you ask. Bill nods. “Even if I lose all my hair?” Bill nods. “Even if I lose part of a breast?” Bill nods. “…even if I lose my entire breast?” Bill nods. “Both of them?”

“Stop. Please.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” You sigh. “I don’t know how badly this could end up turning.” Bill stares at you for a long while before kissing your forehead.

“No matter what,” he says, kissing your cheek, “I will love you,” kissing the corner of your mouth, “and think you are the most beautiful woman on the planet,” kissing your lips, “and be by your side, no matter how bad it gets.”

“What if it gets so bad they’ll only allow family visits?”

“…then I’ll marry you.”

“Bill.” You almost begin to laugh.

“I’m serious.” You freeze beneath his touch. “I’m not…proposing. But…I want to share as much of life as I can with you, and…that’ll probably mean marrying you.” He pauses. “If you want.”

You stare at him wordlessly. For a long enough time that you can hear him start to worry.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you finally answer, “but I’m so glad I have you in my life.”

Bill gathers closer to you, resting his head on your left side, over your breast, ear pressed to where your heart beats.

“…for the record, I would marry you,” you say, running a hand through his hair. “If it was the only way to have you by my side through the worst of it, I would do that.” Bill looks up at you. “But also because I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans up to kiss you again, and you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him on top of you. Kisses grow more heated, hands straying as pulses quicken, a heat building low in your belly once again as Bill retraces the map he’d made on your skin again, covering faint marks with his lips to soothe and arouse all at once.

He pauses at your breast before pressing his lips to the area his hand had covered earlier. Lingers long enough that you think he aims to heal with whatever love he can give you.

You close your eyes to hold back the sudden urge to cry with how sweet and wonderful and loving the man in your arms is, as his lips travel to your breastbone, trail down to your navel…and as he continues his descent of your body, the sweetness passes, and pleasure takes hold.

This will not be the last time you make love to this man. And you don’t mean in that in the sense of “We both have Monday off, guess what end up doing most of that day.” You are just...so determined to stay in Bill’s life. To share every single day and moment, happy or sad, good or bad, with him. Regardless of what state your body is in once the doctors declare you in remission.

Vaguely, you think of that one part of wedding vows you always hear in every movie and wedding episode and actual ceremony ever: “in sickness and in health.” And how, despite not being married, that already feels so so apt.

The two of you are already in the thicket of sickness. Damned if you won’t fight to make good on the “in health” part of those vows, married or not.

**Author's Note:**

> so...i am not a medical professional. but i did my best with what sites google brought up told me about certain factors regarding cancer (.e.g, sites by actual medical professionals), along with what little i remember (it's been over 10 years) from when my grandmother had breast cancer (which she survived). 
> 
> also, fun fact: i absolutely used the "i got the results of the test back..." line from "the room" in joking once to my coworkers. they did not get the reference and thought i was being serious. then i had to explain the reference and assure them that i did not, in fact, have breast cancer.
> 
> also also, the line about "the room" about "shot composition and mise en scene" comes from an hbomberguy video, and i couldn't not use it.
> 
> feedback welcome and appreciated.


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